


In the Maker's Light

by ArchangelEquinox



Series: Once More to the Breach [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Skyhold, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelEquinox/pseuds/ArchangelEquinox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Cullen and the Inquisitor have been trying to deny comes to light after Talia retrieves Morrigan and her son from the Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Maker's Light

            The heavy wooden door slammed behind her as Talia stormed up the stairs into her quarters.  She was shivering, her boots soaked through with water, and she just knew her hair was a frizzy mess from static electricity. 

            _Just what in the Maker's name had Morrigan been thinking, rushing off into the eluvian with no oversight, no backup?_

            She stormed over to stoke the fire, throwing more wood on than necessary just to watch it flare up. 

            _And Kieran! The boy had sworn he wouldn't misbehave, and Morrigan had sworn he didn't need to be supervised like the other children! Bullshit!_

            She lost her balance trying to yank off her boots, ending up with her ass nearly in the fire when she toppled over.  The offending shoes went flying across the room, smashing into her bookshelves with a thunk that was far more satisfying than it should have been.  Beneath the boots, her socks were damp and uncomfortable; they peeled off to reveal wet, wrinkly toes, and with a sneer, she tossed the socks into the fire. 

            _Then Mythal! And after that mess with the Well of Sorrows, after Morrigan had claimed there was no such thing as the elvhen pantheon…_

            Talia had no words for how to deal with that particular bit of mess, and instead shouted curses out the open doors of her quarters, letting the icy wind of the mountains whip them away into nothingness. 

            When she'd exhausted her extensive vocabulary of curses, she stormed back into her quarters.  The beige leggings and blue top she wore around Skyhold were filled with grime and clinging uncomfortably -- they too had to go. 

            These, at least, she flung into her washroom instead of the fire. 

            Finally down to her breastband and smalls, Talia dug through the chest of drawers beside her bed.  Its contents were dumped unceremoniously to the floor: all of Cullen's neatly folded shirts, her hastily piled leggings, the wads of cloth that were both of their smalls, all mixed together. 

            _We really need another set of drawers up here_ , she grumbled to herself, still digging.  Finally, at the very bottom -- as the piles of clothes around her could attest -- she found the ragged gray tank top she saved for sparring and pulled it on.  It was one of the only things she owned that had survived Haven, and its tight cling always warmed her. 

            She ignored the leggings, instead throwing herself backward onto the bed and cursing inventively at how cold the blankets were.  She really needed to have someone start minding the fire in her quarters throughout the day when the weather was this cold; icy blankets were one of the worst punishments she could imagine, and she didn't deserve that after the day she'd had. 

              Around her, the air of the room gradually warmed.  The temperature of the blankets spread under her grew less shocking and more comforting.  And before long, Talia could feel some of her frustration leaving her. Morrigan was a mother after all, and what mother wouldn't want to do anything, even jump into the Fade, to save her child?  It was understandable, even if Talia didn't particularly like it. 

            Another few minutes passed before her breathing calmed, and Talia suddenly realized she could hear humming in the room.  It was an old Chantry hymn, one she vaguely recognized, and she could think of only one person who would be singing in her quarters: Cullen. 

            She pondered this information for a moment, its gravity refusing to sink in.  _I figured he'd be elsewhere,_ she reasoned, and just as it clicked that he must have been in there the whole time, he spoke.    

            "Feeling better after your tantrum down there?"  He asked, his voice calm and soothing.  His tone was almost distracted, like he was working intently on something and just wanted to let her know he was there. 

            Talia threw herself off the bed and ran for the ladder to Cullen's balcony office.  He didn't ask again when she didn't respond to his query, confirming that he only wanted to alert her to his presence.  She pulled herself up the rungs, her head poking up through the trapdoor in moments. 

            "Cullen!" 

            "Hello, dear," he said, not looking up.  The humming had stopped, only to reveal the scratching of his quill on the parchment before him. 

            She went to his side, reading over his shoulder and waiting impatiently for him to acknowledge her barely-clothed state. 

            Cullen did no such thing. 

            Talia raised an eyebrow at his indifferent shoulders, willing him to look up for a few moments until it was obvious that was not going to work. 

            She sighed. 

            "Guess where I was today?" 

            "Where?"  He asked without looking up.  Whatever he was working on must have been serious. 

            Talia put her hands on her hips, jutting one out toward him.  "The Fade."  She tried to keep the frustration and anger out of her voice, instead opting for the same casual indifference he was offering her. 

            Cullen didn't even blink.  "That's nice," he said, quill scratching away. 

            "Not really, no."  She reached out and plucked his quill out of his hand.  Cullen studied this development for a moment, his gloved fist clenched on nothing but air.  Finally, he turned to her. 

            "May I have my quill back?" 

            "Seriously, Cullen…"  Talia began, wiggling the quill out of his reach.  He stood swiftly, leaned in, and, wrapping one arm around her waist, kissed her thoroughly.  In that moment of distraction, his other arm reached up and neatly reclaimed his quill. 

            "No fair," Talia grumbled when he pulled away and sat down again. 

            "All's fair in love and war, dear," he teased, his attention back on his writing.  "And I have work to do." 

            She threw her head back, exasperated.  "I was in the Fade, Cullen! I followed Morrigan! Met Mythal! You know, the elvhen goddess? And she's Morrigan's _mother_ , of all things!" 

            "That sounds like quite the dream.  Perhaps you need better sleep after the Arbor Wilds," Cullen told her, ever practical. 

            "You dense man," she muttered.  Plucking up the quill again, she snapped it between her fingers and tossed its remains over the balcony.  This, at last, received Cullen's full attention. 

            "What in the Maker's name…" he began, but his eyes finally met hers.  Whatever he saw there quickly convinced him to pay attention, for he looked her over, did a double take, and studied her seriously.  The hard line of her lips, the smudges of Fade-knows-what on her skin, her lack of pants, and the goosebumps that covered her arms and legs despite the warmth in the air. 

            He stood up, pushing his chair back with an awful shriek of wood against stone, and grabbed her shoulders.  "Talia, what happened? Start from the beginning."  She sighed. 

            "Come sit, and I will," she said, turning toward the couch in his office balcony. 

            "No," he said, his hands gripping her tight.  "What happened?" 

            She searched his face for a moment, her green eyes flickering over his features.  The circles under his eyes were lessened of late, a direct consequence (she believed) of sleeping in their new, shared quarters.  Those lines in his cheeks and forehead, though sometimes absent, were reappearing rapidly as he studied her, his concern etched deep into his face.  His eyes stayed locked on hers even as she studied him, and on impulse, she leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose. 

            He flinched backward in surprise, a small smile quirking the corner of his mouth. 

            "I'm fine, Cullen," she murmured.  The reassurance reminded him of her earlier visit to the Fade, however, and she watched a shadow settle back over his features. 

            "Talia…" he began, and she interrupted. 

            "One of Leliana's runners found me in the gardens a few hours ago.  Kieran had vanished, and Morrigan had found the eluvian activated." 

            "That fucking thing," Cullen growled under his breath, and Talia lifted one hand to squeeze his, still latched onto her shoulders. 

            "She's locked it now, try not to worry," she told him, and continued.  "Leliana was waiting for me in its storeroom, and I went after Morrigan."  The rest of the story tumbled out easily -- it wasn't that much to tell, all in all, and Talia had worked off most of her frustration already, leaving a casual tone that belied how much the incident had unsettled her. 

            Cullen's face grew more and more somber as he listened, and as she described her conversation with Morrigan after they re-emerged in Skyhold, he started squeezing her shoulders even tighter. 

            "I… think it will be all right," Talia admitted finally.  "Kieran is safe, and Morrigan believes she can match Corypheus's dragon.  It's… a relief, actually." 

            Cullen didn't answer.  Instead, she felt his fingers probe against her skin, digging into the muscles of her shoulders before squeezing down her arms.  She let him touch her for a moment before she spoke again.             

            "Cullen, what are you doing?" 

            "You weren't hurt, in the Fade?"  He asked, sidestepping her question. 

            Talia tried to take a step back, but his hands stopped her.  "No, I… No.  No one fought.  There was just a little fluttering blue light going from Kieran to Mythal, and… that was it, really." 

            "But there was magic?"  His hands did not stop their careful pressure, and she suddenly realized he was feeling for the bones under her flesh, searching her body for breaks or bruises. 

            "Yes, some, but nothing --" 

            "Take your shirt off," he said, and Talia was surprised by the broken, pleading notes in his voice.  "Please," he added quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. 

            Her fingers played with the raw edges of her tank top as she considered this.  "All right," she murmured after a moment.  She pulled it over her head, wondering what was going on as she did, and dropped it to the stone beside her. 

            Not once in the ensuing moments did Cullen's eyes drift to her cleavage.  Instead, his amber gaze followed the gentle movements of his hands as he pressed probing fingers to her ribs and sides.  He traced the scars along her abdomen carefully, searching for new but undisclosed injuries or freshly healed tissue, and when he finished inspecting her front, he used one hand to turn her around. 

            His hands traced over the muscles of her back, his movements rougher now.  She could feel his fingers digging into her shoulder blades, testing for tenderness as he worked.  Long, probing touches ran down her spine, the muscles there twitching under his touch.  Satisfied that she was not hiding a visible injury from him, he took her elbow carefully in hand and tested its movement. 

            "Cullen, this is really unnece--" 

            He cut her off.  "Allow me this," he said gruffly, and she could still hear the pleading in his voice. 

            She nodded then, holding back a surprising swell of tears, and he continued his work.  He flexed each elbow in and out before carefully moving her arms to check the mobility of her shoulders.  Gentle hands probed upward to her neck, running along the stiff muscles there and massaging them carefully as he turned her head back and forth. 

            Satisfied, he dropped to his knees behind her, his hands trailing down to her hips.  Fingertips dug into the sides of her legs, following the lines of the muscles down to her calves.  He pressed  prying fingers into the divots of her knees and squeezed along the tendons to check for swelling. When he reached her ankles, he gently guided her around to face him before lifting each foot individually, his hands rotating her ankles as he worked. 

            Finally, he sat back on his heels, though his hands did not leave her skin.   His amber gaze lifted to her face, and Talia could see the fear there.  She tucked her hand against his cheek and pulled him up onto his knees. 

            "Cullen, I'm _fine_. There's nothing to worry--" 

            "There is always something," he rumbled, cutting her off.  "I have more trust in magic now than I have ever, it is true, but…"  Abruptly he leaned forward, burying his face against her bare abdomen.  His arms wrapped around her body, one catching at the tops of her legs and the other hand digging into her back.  "I cannot change some things," he said into her skin.  "And I certainly do not trust the magic of Mythal." 

            Talia's hands carded through his hair as his arms tightened around her.  "I understand," she said quietly. 

            "Thank you," he breathed, and she felt his lips brush her skin in a gentle kiss.  A moment later he stood and ran his hands through his hair self-consciously.  "I should not have doubted your story." 

            Talia couldn't help her smile.  "It's an unusual one, that's for sure." 

            "Nonetheless," Cullen said.  He gave her a small smile. 

            "And the rub down…?"  His hand flew to the back of his neck. 

            "I… You might have missed an injury upon your return." 

            "Even though there was no fighting?" 

            "Even so."  He would not meet her eyes. 

            Talia studied him for a moment, her expression confused.  "Cullen, look at me…"  He did, and Talia again saw the dark shadows over his face, the fear hidden deep in his eyes.  "You are worried we might not be able to stand against Corypheus," she realized.    

            Everything seemed to bubble out of him at once.  "Of course I am!  I would be a fool not to be!"  His arms flew up as he shouted, but Talia didn't back away.  "Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden in the Wilds -- what more is he capable of?" 

            "I know all that, Cullen, but--" 

            His words stopped her in her tracks.  "Are you not afraid?" 

            They stared at each other for a moment.  The fire crackled from the room below, yet cold seemed to have seeped in around them.  Everything seemed darker, the space filled with shadows, and Talia struggled to find her voice amid suddenly threatening tears. 

            "Yes," she finally choked out, her eyes dropping to the floor.  "Of course I am afraid." 

            "And?"  The demand was harsh, broken glass filling his voice. 

            "… I don't know what to do with fear anymore, Cullen," she admitted, her arms coming up to wrap around herself.  "We've lived with it for so long, tried to build a life together despite it, kept the Inquisition going despite it… What more can I carry?"  Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she wiped angrily at them. 

            "Oh Talia," she heard Cullen whisper, and then his arms were around her, pulling her against his chest.  "That's not what I meant.  I only… I worried I was alone," he whispered, his breath stirring through her hair as he held her. 

            She dug her fingers into the fur of his coat and violently shook her head.  "You're not alone," she told him, her voice a little stronger.  "I just… The Inquisitor must face what's coming, regardless of if I am afraid."   She shifted so she could look at him.  "That could be… I might not…"  She couldn't bring herself to say it.    

            "Maker, no," Cullen breathed, crushing her back against his chest.   Talia felt tears running down her face, heard Cullen try to hold his back, and they clung to each other for long minutes, each trying to wrestle with the reality that faced them. 

            When Cullen stepped back, his hands did not leave her.    "May I show you something?" He asked quietly, squeezing her shoulders. 

            Talia nodded, wiping the drying tears from her face.  "Of course.  But I should probably get dressed," she quipped, trying to brighten up.    

            Cullen glanced at her as if just now realizing she stood in only her smalls and blushed.  "I … had forgotten, I admit," he said.  "My apologies." 

            Talia tucked her hand against his cheek again and pulled him down to brush a kiss across his lips.  "It's okay," she chuckled, and he smiled against her lips.   

            When they broke apart, she nodded and moved to the ladder. Soon she was dressed, and Cullen grasped her hand tightly.  "Where are we going?" 

            "Follow me," he said, tugging her along behind him. 

            They walked the length of Skyhold's Great Hall in silence, Cullen only stopping to hold the door into the garden open for her.  For a moment, Talia wondered if the Commander was going to seek out the eluvian, perhaps to demand its destruction, but instead he made for the tiny chapel in one corner of the courtyard.  Once again, he held the door for her, and Talia stepped inside. 

            She wasn't sure what awaited them.  The chapel was foreign to her; while she had visited it during her initial exploration of Skyhold, she had never been curious about its visitors since.  Her past dealings with the Chantry dictated that the Maker held little interest for her, and she'd acted as such. 

            Cullen, however, stepped immediately to the altar and knelt, his voice already muttering through part of the Chant.  Talia tried to give him a moment of privacy.  Her eyes roved over the overturned pews and growing vines, noting that no dust covered the altar or its many candles.  The Inquisition was pious indeed if its prayers were any indication. 

 

            When Cullen's voice lessened after a few minutes, she turned back to him. 

            "Cullen," she began.  "Why are we here?" 

            He did not respond.  Instead, she watched as he carefully lit a low candle, one that had clearly been lit many times before, and whispered another quiet verse over it.   The remains of perhaps a dozen similar candles sat behind it, their wicks long since used up.  The gentle scent of crystal grace floated up as the wax melted, and understanding washed over her. 

            She stepped closer, one hand dropping to his bent shoulder.  "It's for me, isn't it?" 

            When he spoke, his voice was quiet.  "Yes." 

            Talia stared at the tiny flame for a moment.  It fluttered in time with Cullen's words as he prayed, and she felt sudden warmth seep into her bones.  "I… How long have you lit candles for me?" 

            The Chant stopped, and Cullen took a deep, shuddering breath.  "Since the beginning." 

            "You mean, since we got to Skyhold?" 

            "No," he said quietly, and he turned to look up at her, amber meeting emerald.  "Since Haven… since you first rose as our savior." 

            Her heart leapt then, and Talia knelt beside him.  All her smart comments -- a joke about luck, a flippant dismissal of danger, everything that came naturally to her -- fled as Cullen threaded their fingers together. 

            "I wasn't always praying for you personally," he explained, his gaze drifting to the statue of Andraste hovering over them.  "At least not at first.  Sometimes it was for successful missions, sometimes for the safe return of this unknown woman we called the Herald.  But as time went on, it became for you, Talia, and as it morphed…"   His eyes came down to meet hers then, and Talia was rocked back with the adoration she saw written there.  "As it morphed, I started to realize how much I cared about you." 

            "Cullen…" 

            Beside her, Cullen took a deep breath.  "This is my only comfort when you are away… when you are in danger, and I cannot protect you."  He risked a glance at her, and she couldn't help her smirk. 

            "Which is always," she prompted, and he nodded. 

            "It is my greatest fear," he said gravely.  "And Corypheus…"  He took a deep breath.  "Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him." 

            Talia pulled him into an embrace, and he sank against her, his face buried in the crook of her neck.  The warm wet of his tears slid against her skin, and she could not help her own as they held each other. 

            "Keep praying for me, Cullen," she whispered, and felt his arms tighten around her.  "Keep me safe so I can return to you." 

            "I will," he breathed.  "Whatever happens, you will come back." 

            "I promise," she said.  They held each other in silence, the warm smell of crystal grace surrounding them, and Talia suppressed the urge to tell him how much she loved him.  She didn't think she could bear the burden of saying good-bye. 

            Cullen must have been wrestling with the same thoughts, for he took a shuddering breath before speaking again.  "I do not know what the future holds," he murmured.  "But I trust that, after a lifetime of anguish and fear, the Maker will not part us now.  To believe anything else… I can't." 

            He pressed warm, gentle kisses into her neck, along her jaw, until he reached her lips.  Talia met him eagerly, hoping that whatever she couldn't say, she could pour into their kiss.  They clung to each other, desperate and scared, until finally Talia pulled back. 

            "Cullen?" 

            "Hm?"  He pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes closed. 

            "Teach me to pray?" 

            His amber eyes opened, the question written in them.  Talia glanced down, avoiding his gaze.  "You know I'm not religious.  I know the Chant from my childhood, but my time in the Circle… I had no faith after my life there, and no desire since.  But you believe with such fervor…"  Her eyes lifted to his, pleading.  "Teach me how to believe again.  Please." 

            Cullen bent his head to bump his nose against hers before pressing a kiss to her lips.  "Pray with me, Talia," he whispered when he pulled away, and he turned to face the altar again.  Talia followed, adjusting herself on her knees and glancing at Cullen.  He smiled at her, his cheeks streaked with tearstains, and began. 

            _"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide.  I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.  For there is no darkness in the Maker's light…"_  


End file.
